


Valor

by lacemonster



Series: Lacemonster's Gifts [8]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Abuse, Blood, Drinking, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Military Kink, Misogyny, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slurs, Slut Shaming, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:34:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24984658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacemonster/pseuds/lacemonster
Summary: Slade and Wintergreen visit an old bar from their military days, where Slade encounters a young man with a very specific taste.Or: Dick hunts for men in a military bar and Slade has no patience for tag chasers
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: Lacemonster's Gifts [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1181402
Comments: 18
Kudos: 150





	Valor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withthekeyisking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/gifts).



> WARNING PLEASE READ
> 
> This fic contains homophobia, including homophobic slurs. This fic also contain rape/noncon. Other warnings are in the tags. Please avoid this fic if any of these trigger you. Any upset comments that did not adhere to the warnings will be ignored and deleted.
> 
> A few fic notes: I kept this in post-Crisis continuity, keeping Slade as Vietnam vet. In order to keep the ages proportionate (AKA without aging Slade up to a senior citizen), this fic takes place a couple decades back, probably around 90s/2000s before "Don't Ask Don't Tell" was repealed.
> 
> Could not decide whether or not to make this a civilian AU or keep it within canon, so I kept it vague. If it is within canon, then assume that Slade and Dick do not know each other's identities.
> 
> This fic was made for WithTheKeyIsKing! Thank you so much for coming to me to write this story. I hope you enjoy it. Thank you!

Hoover Street hadn’t changed much in twenty years. Some store signs had faded, others changed entirely. Slade recognized more than a few of the stores and restaurants. It seemed that business ran stagnant in that little town, lost to the success of its neighboring city, Blüdhaven. 

Slade trailed about three paces behind Billy, who was speeding down the sidewalk like he was thirty years old all over again. Billy split through a sea of drunk young men and Slade eyed them as they stumbled by, noticing the kabar tattooed to one’s forearm. The town’s demographic hadn’t changed, either. The only patrons in this town were the locals and offduty military.

“There it is!” Billy said, without looking over his shoulder. He stopped just outside the door, waiting for Slade to catch up. 

Even from outside the building, Slade caught the stench of alcohol. Slade tilted his head up to read the swinging sign. _Major Gordy’s_. Slade made a face at the rotted wood. Some things just hadn’t changed at all.

“Come on!” Billy said, throwing the door open. Slade just shook his head to himself and followed.

The moment Slade entered through the door, he was greeted with a wave of heat. The air was thick with booze and sweat. It seemed that every person of drinking age was packed into that single bar. Young and old alike stood shoulder-to-shoulder, the only disproportion being the high number of young men with buzzed haircuts.

Slade joined Billy by the bar. The bartender was distracted with other customers. The whole bar was loud with conversation, laughter, and clinking glasses. Beneath that, Slade just barely caught Billy’s content sigh.

“It’s just like the old days, isn’t it?” Billy said.

Slade was incapable of holding back his opinion.

“This place has always been a dump.”

“Fuck off! There were plenty of good memories here!”

“‘Good memories’,” Slade repeated. He chortled at that. “Only because you got blackout drunk every night we were here.”

Billy glared. Slade maintained a hard expression, daring Billy to say something. He and Billy had very different ideas of their military days. Slade’s time in the military had defined the person he had become, but he didn’t exactly enjoy his time as a soldier, even when he was offduty. The only highlights were sneaking off to bang Addie.

Billy opened his mouth to argue, but was distracted when someone bumped shoulders with him. Two newcomers had rushed the bar. It was two college-aged women. The bartender seemed to have been summoned by their presence. He walked straight past Slade and Billy to take the girls’ orders. Slade scowled. Billy seemed ready to argue—until he got a full look at the pretty faces to his left.

“Well, hello there,” Billy said.

The two women stopped in the middle of their conversation to side-eye Billy. Slade, getting impatient, reached over and yanked at the bartender who was about to fly right past them again. Slade ordered drinks while Billy attempted to sweet talk the girls half his age.

“William Randolph Wintergreen, major to Her Majesty’s Armed Forces.”

“What’s that?” Slade heard of them say. The girl’s voice was airy, but touched with a wondrous curiosity.

“It’s the English army,” her friend said. “Or British. Whatever.”

The bartender, now sweating, immediately went into pouring some beers. Satisfied, Slade finally turned toward Billy’s conversation.

“You’re British?” The girl leaned forward, excitement tugging at her lips. Her eyes then flickered in Slade’s direction, getting her first good look at his face. Something in her expression warmed. “Is your friend a British soldier, too?”

“No,” Slade said, bluntly. Billy flashed him an annoyed look, a warning to be easier on his tone, but Slade ignored him. 

“What’s your name?” the girl asked.

“None of your business.”

“Hey,” her friend said, raising her voice. “Don’t talk to her that way.”

Slade snorted and grumbled back, “Leave, then. Uppity cunt.”

Both girls stuck around long enough to get their drinks and then immediately left, their faces red. Billy tilted forward in his bar stool, ready to chase after them, but then must have realized there was nothing to salvage. Billy rubbed at his face, his hands pulling at his eyelids. Slade went to take the first sip of his beer when Billy’s hand pushed down on the top, pinning it back to the table.

“What the fuck was that?” Billy snapped. Slade shoved Billy away, just hard enough to make the stool wobble a little, and yanked his beer back.

“You should be thanking me,” Slade said. “Chasing around dumb, young girls makes you look pathetic.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk.”

“Christ, Billy,” Slade said, growling from the corner of his mouth. His grimace deepened when he turned to Billy and said, “They’re tag chasers.”

“And?”

“Tag chasers are trash. Trashy even for you.”

“Didn’t realize you had such high standards.”

“A warm body is a warm body. But I’d rather not stick my dick in both crazy and annoying.”

“Right. Just crazy.”

“This whole place is full of them,” Slade grumbled under his breath. His eyes roamed around the packed room. Women—clearly dressed like they were from the city—wrapped tightly around military boys like a tangle of snakes. Slade felt a wave of disgust rise up inside of them. 

He always hated women like that. Women who wanted soldiers because they saw them as wounded things to be healed. Women who wanted to be seen side-by-side with a big, strong hero. Or maybe even worse, women who wanted military discounts and perks without putting in any of the work. Maybe Slade was lucky that Addie had dug her claws into him when he was still young. Underneath all the manipulation, at least Addie had the same blood on her hands, being military herself. If Slade had been forced to wade through a dating pool of young girls who pitied him, he’d probably would have snapped and ended up asphixiating some dumb broad in a motel room.

As Slade’s narrowed gaze scanned across the room, he stopped at one peculiar sight. There was a table up against the opposite wall, where a bunch of young men stood. One of them stood out—his hair was dark and thick rather than shaved to the scalp. Slade stared, unblinking, as the young man reached over, fingers hooking onto the silver chain of a dogtag. He said something, and Slade’s grimace deepened when his eyes travelled from the sly smile on the boy’s lips to the cutoff sleeves to the jeans that were wrapped girl-tight around his ass.

“I guess they make them like that, too,” Slade said. At that, Billy followed Slade’s line of sight, right to the boy. Billy chortled and nudged Slade with his elbow.

“And you complain about _me_ making us sound old.”

“Those rookies should have shoved him off by now. How the fuck is that allowed?” Slade said, aware of how his voice was rising. He didn’t care. Fuck this place, filled with bootlicking tramps and fags. He never liked this bar anyways. The beer was shit—coming from the opinion of a guy who regularly drank shitty beer—and the building was falling apart. But the angrier he got, the more amused Billy became.

“Oh, fuck off. They’re not breaking any rules.”

“They’re _supposed_ to keep it to themselves.”

“Since when was it ever a secret? You know damn well that the whole brotherhood is one big circle-jerk,” Billy said, miming a jacking-off motion.

“You were the one into that queer shit, Billy. Not me.”

Billy just shrugged and sipped his beer. Slade continued to watch the man flirting with the soldiers, disgust and anger twisting in his stomach. Perhaps he watched for too long, because a pair of blue eyes eventually landed in Slade’s direction, locking gazes with him.

Slade tilted his head away, casually, as if he hadn’t been staring. He turned back to the bar, focusing on his beer. He watched another one of Billy’s attempts to flirt with a woman who seemed more interested in the game on TV than anything Billy had to say.

Slade was nearing the bottom of his second beer when there was a tap on his shoulder.

“Hey.”

Slade looked, met with a pair of pretty blue eyes under long, dark lashes. It was the guy from earlier. The one he accidentally locked gazes with. Slade just gave him a hard stare, not understanding what the guy’s angle was. There didn’t seem to be any maliciousness to the man—his eyes and smile were friendly, albeit the stiff arms and the hands stuffed in his pockets, which gave off an air of nervousness.

“My name’s Dick. Mind if I join you?”

“Don’t care what your stupid name is. Fuck off,” Slade said, lips lifting into a sneer. Billy slapped Slade on the back, causing Slade to turn sharply in his direction, but Billy pointedly avoided his gaze.

“Sure, take a seat.” The boy, Dick, took the stool next to Slade. Billy extended his arm before Slade, offering a handshake to the kid. “William Randolph Wintergreen. Major to Her Majesty’s Armed Forces.”

Dick shook Billy’s hand. Billy bumped shoulders with Slade, nudging him forward. Slade set his drink down, about ready to smash the glass against the edge of the table and stab his friend. But he dropped it. Billy wanted to socialize and he was going to have his way. Slade turned a fraction in his stool, meeting the boy’s face, which watched him with expectant—damn near eager—eyes. He shook Dick’s hand, which was strong, but might as well have been an overcooked noodle compared to Slade’s firm grip.

“Slade Wilson. Army. Vietnam.”

“Dick Grayson,” Dick reiterated.

“What branch did you serve?” Billy asked.

“Oh, no, I’m not military,” Dick said, waving a dismissive hand.

“So you’re a local?”

“No, I’m from Blüdhaven. Well, Gotham, originally.”

“What are you doing here then?”

“I like the crowd better,” Dick said, eyes flitting back in Slade’s direction. 

Slade bristled in place. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach, thinking back on the way he saw Dick’s hands on those men. His eye narrowed. He decided he didn’t like this kid. And he especially didn’t like the way Dick was trying to talk to him.

“You mean you like the men better,” Slade said. His tone was clearly aggressive, drawing concerned looks from both Dick and Billy. At that, Dick’s expression became something uncomfortable, but he recovered quickly, offering a sheepish smile.

“Hey, sorry. I don’t mean to bother you. I saw you and—well, I guess I misread.”

“You did. I don’t fuck tag chasers, especially queer ones.”

Dick visibly bristled, his shoulders squaring and the sparkle in his eyes growing cold. 

Then just as quickly, his mouth drew a smirk.

“But you will fuck queers.”

Slade heard a chortle. He looked over his shoulder, staring hard at Billy. Billy buried his face in his glass.

“Mind if I stick around anyways?”

Slade and Billy gave differing answers at the same time. 

Dick took that as a yes and waved down the bartender, ordering a drink. And just like that, he had cemented his place at that stool.

“So, you two still stationed here?” Dick said.

“No, those days were long ago. But we used to come here all the time,” Billy said.

“What brings you back in town?” Dick said.

“Oh, we’re just passing by. We’re going hunting upstate,” Billy said.

“You hunt?” The question came from the woman who Billy had been trying to talk up. She had a look of curiosity in her eyes. At that, Billy paused only for a moment, likely calculating the best response to this woman’s sudden interest.

“Yeah, duck hunting.”

“I used to go hunting with my family. Where do you go?” the woman asked. And just like that, Billy had somehow managed to hook someone. Slade didn’t know how, but Billy always found a way. The two started talking, all of the woman’s previous animosities quickly slipping away. 

Slade had been absorbed in his beer and didn’t even notice Dick’s touch until the hand had circled completely around his wrist. Slade bristled under the touch. He snatched his hand back. He was about to snap at Grayson, but there was this deep, dark look in the boy’s eyes, Slade was quickly certain that no amount of yelling would slow this kid down.

“You don’t quit, do you?” Slade said, baring his teeth. Dick just rested his head on his hand.

“I just want to talk. I’ll stop, really. You just seem interesting to me, is all.”

“Yeah, I bet you find a lot of people here interesting. Bet you like to brag to all of your friends in the city about your little trips out here.”

“I don’t brag about men. They brag about me.”

Little shit.

“Don’t make that face,” he said, laughing. It was a genuine laugh, his mouth wide, eyes bright. “I’m just messing with you. Relax, I don’t actually want to fuck every man and woman I meet, you know. I can make conversation too.”

“No, you don’t just fuck anyone. You have a type. What is it about me that interests you? Bet it’s the eye, you haven’t stopped looking at it.”

At that, Dick finally frowned.

“Hey, come on—“he started, but Slade cut him off.

“Go on. I want to know what stupid, girlish fantasy you made up in your head the moment you looked at my face. Tell me about that war story playing in your head where I sacrificed my eye to save a platoon or to salvage some striped piece of fabric. Go on.”

“Look, I meant no offense—“

“Maybe it’s not the eye. Maybe you just wanted to get your hands on the first older man you could find. You’re a military brat, aren’t you? Or maybe you always wanted to be. You probably had a hardass of a father and now that’s your type. You’re a little boy who outgrew his daddy’s belt and deep down you just crave a strong man to put you in place. You want to be disciplined by hands that kill and fucked by men who earned medals raping boys like you—“

Dick grabbed his drink and stormed off. Slade’s gaze followed him, watching as he went back to that table of easy men, who now had enough drinks in them to openly welcome him back in without any of their earlier shyness or nerves. Slade felt Billy nudge him.

“Hey. What’d you say to him?” Billy said, frowning.

“Told him to fuck off,” Slade said, going back to his drink. Billy frowned a moment longer but the woman was still talking, so Billy eventually focused all of his attention back on her.

Billy talked to the woman all night. Slade just drank. By the time it was bar close, Slade’s body was warmed by the alcohol. An impressive feat, since he never seemed to get drunk anymore. The bartender herded everyone out the door. They all funneled out the door, some tripping into each other.

Upon exiting, Slade was greeted by the fresh air, cool and sweet. Slade pulled away from the crowd, where Billy and his new girlfriend came stumbling after him. Both of their eyes were red, but still had some clarity to them. Drunk, but not completely smashed.

“Hey, Slade, hope you don’t mind but uh—“

“I’m stealing your friend away,” the woman interrupted, arms linked around Billy’s neck.

“But don’t worry! We’re walking!” Billy said. He tossed his car keys toward Slade, but the aim was completely off, landing in the alley—the entry of which was about three feet to Slade’s right. Slade just looked at him. That was the end of that—Slade watched as the two new lovebirds crossed the street.

Slade went to go pick up Billy’s keys. As he started to move deeper into the alley to grab them, he recognized that the long alley was a shortcut to where Billy had parked the truck. He stuffed the keys in his pocket and started walking.

The air was quiet, save for a hum coming from the bar’s vents. He walked through the cloud of exhaust, feeling like he heard something else. The sound of a scrape across the ground, followed by voices murmuring. Slade kept moving forward, the voices growing more audible. The alleyway was too narrow for a car to fit through, and was filled with junk ranging from crates to cardboard boxes. Slade heard the voices from behind the dumpster.

Slade couldn’t make out what they were saying, if they were saying anything at all. He paused briefly at the sounds. The urgency of those quickened breaths sounded all too familiar to him—from the gasps to the sighs to shallow exhales. 

Some lowlifes were fucking in the alleyway. Slade didn’t give a shit. He was determined to walk right past the scene, but the toe of his boot kicked at a loose beer can, sending it skittering across the hard concrete. The sound spooked the couple. 

“Shit,” the man muttered.

Slade couldn’t help but turn his head at the commotion. In the dim lighting, Slade could just barely make out the shape of the man getting his clothes back on. He took off running, sprinting at a good speed. Slade watched him go.

“It’s you.”

Slade stopped at the voice. They had barely exchanged more than a few sentences, but Slade already felt like he knew him.

Beneath the flickering light hanging above a store’s exit, Slade could just barely make out Dick’s features. Dick was in the process of zipping himself back up, hair lightly tousled and lips swollen. Slade steeled himself at the sight. He was hoping he wouldn’t run into Dick again.

Slade only moved a step before a hand grabbed him by the shoulder.

Slade immediately reacted, shoving Dick back into the wall.

“Get your filthy fag hands off of me before I break them.”

To Slade’s surprise, a pair of angry eyes stared back at him. Fearless eyes.

“Did you follow me?” Dick said.

“It’s an open alleyway, you dumb shit.”

“That wasn’t my question,” Dick said, stepping forward.

At that, Slade’s anger flared.

He shoved Dick again, this time pinning him up against the wall. Dick smacked into the bricks, groaning at the impact. His hands immediately went up, grabbing tightly onto Slade’s arm that had him nailed to the wall. Their eyes met, fire meeting fire.

“I don’t fuck tag chasers. I don’t fuck queers.”

“Fine. Sorry. Now get off of me.”

Slade looked directly into Dick’s fury. Pushed up against the wall, Slade got a clearer look on the boy’s face. His brow was deeply furrowed, his mouth tight-lipped, eyes glistening with frustration. Slade could feel Dick’s hands on his arm, poised to break Slade’s hold, grip surprisingly strong. Slade should have walked away. He wanted to get back in the truck, settle down for the night. But specifically because Dick told him to get off, Slade held on.

In a quick move, he flipped Dick forward, shoving him face first into the brick. Dick tried to push back but Slade had him pinned hard. Dick’s breathing quickened, releasing in harsh exhales. Slade took a good look at him, studying the way his pretty face smushed up against the hard, sharp bricks.

“You’re hurting me,” Dick hissed.

Slade twisted the boy’s arm behind his back, pulling hard. Dick groaned in pain, his lip lifted up in a snarl, teeth bearing down. Slade leaned his weight into the hold, crushing the boy into the wall, his back lined up with Slade’s front.

“You know what I hate most about sluts like you?” Slade murmured, his face drawing close to the boy’s ear. “You’re all talk.”

Dick tensed underneath Slade’s words. Slade listened to the subtle hitch of his breath, stared right into that wide eye that peered back at him beneath a sweep of bangs. The boy was nervous. Maybe even edging on fear. At that, Slade felt the corner of his lips tug into a smile. He felt a wave of satisfaction. 

“Are you scared, little boy?”

Dick jerked back, trying to throw Slade off of him. Slade only shoved him right back into the bricks, ramming him hard, making Dick gasp out in pain. The feeling inside of Slade grew—the joy mixed with the hate. Stupid boy. Brat. Slut. He deserved this, deserved to be treated like the useless shit that he was.

“Get off!” Dick said with a growl, thrashing under Slade’s hold. Slade could sense the growing fear in the boy. The less Slade budged, the more Dick’s movements became panicked and desperate. Now, the differences in their strengths was clear. Slade had him. He had Dick in the palms of his hands like a squirming insect.

“You’re all the same,” Slade whispered, his face buried in Dick’s hair. The strands were thick with alcohol and sweat. He breathed in the scent, almost laughing when Dick shuddered in his grasp. He spoke, words rushed and heated, lips brushing across Dick’s scalp, “You talk about how you like it rough. How you like to bite. You talk about wanting a _real_ man. But the minute your hair gets pulled or your face gets messy or you get tossed around too hard, sluts like you always whine like uppity little bitches.”

Dick was breathing hard. He was trapped between Slade and the wall. He tried his best to fight back but he was losing, body shaking from exertion or fear or maybe a combination of the two. All his damn panting and squirming made Slade hard. Slade didn’t run from it, he leaned into it. He rolled his hips up against the boy’s ass, groaning deep at the hot friction against his erection. His whole body was burning hot, trapped beneath his clothes. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, heart pounding. 

Slade liked Dick’s body, more than he should have. At the same time, he hated this bitch. He wanted to make him cry like the little boy that he was. And it was that hate that fuelled his excitement. He was going to make this bitch bleed. He was going to ruin him. He was going to make him regret ever looking his way.

Then he’d think twice the next time he wanted to go fagging and slutting around some military bar.

He grabbed at the waistline of Dick’s jeans, yanking at them. Dick jerked in surprise, pushing back against Slade.

“What are you doing?”

Dick was shouting. Slade didn’t care. He yanked hard, again, wrangling the jeans past Dick’s hips. Slade took a look, making out the contours in which the shadows caressed Dick’s round ass. His ass was built like a woman’s, smooth and soft and perfectly shaped. Slade had thought as much, ever since he saw those tight jeans in the bar, Dick leaned over the tables like he was just begging for someone to rip the seat of the denim open and fuck him over a bar table.

“Stop!” Dick said, drawing Slade’s attention. “What are you doing?“

“Putting a bitch in its place,” Slade said, voice cold. At that, Dick looked at him, eyes widening.

“No, stop—“

Slade’s hand wrapped around Dick’s face, squeezing over the boy’s mouth, the fingers digging into his cheeks. Dick’s voice was muffled as he protested, his shouts growing louder and louder as Slade shoved his jeans down his thighs. The heat of Dick’s face warmed underneath Slade’s hand. His heavy breaths caught in the prison bars of Slade’s fingers. 

Slade spat on his fingers. Dick suddenly yanked away from him with renewed strength. He managed to escape a few paces, but Slade caught him just as quickly, arm wrapping around Dick’s middle. The boy stumbled, doubling over Slade’s arm. Slade kept him there, hand dipping into the crease of his ass, fingers snaking their way inside of Dick.

Dick cried out, voice breaking with stunned shock as he was penetrated. He tried to twist out of Slade’s grasp but barely budged, inching over only a fraction with Slade following suit. Slade insistently shoved his fingers inside of Dick’s hole, intent on breaking him in. To his surprise, Dick was already wet.

“Did that rookie get you warmed up, or were you wet and aching to go your whole way here? Do you fuck yourself before you slut around bars?”

“Let go,” Dick said, trying to writhe out of Slade’s grasp. Slade squeezed his arm around Dick’s middle, wrenching the breath from his gut. His fingers dug into Dick, hard and deep.

“Are you fighting me?” Slade said, voice growling and aggressive. “Where’s that faggot from the bar who kept bending himself over? Huh? Answer me.”

Dick did not answer. He ignored Slade’s words, grunting with exertion as he tried to pry himself out of Slade’s grip and failed again and again. Slade only insistently shoved his fingers in deeper, burying them down to the knuckle. Fucking repeatedly and insistently into Dick’s wet hole. Dick moaned in pain at the rough handling and pace, begging for Slade to stop. Every heavy breath and gasp and plea only fuelled Slade’s actions. Slade grinded his fingers deep inside of Dick, rubbing up against his hot, tight walls. 

“You’re wet, but you’re still a tight squeeze, at least. Lucky you. You get to be broken in today.”

Dick might have been fucking around with that soldier, but he hadn’t gotten far. He was still virgin-tight around Slade’s fingers. Slade didn’t care. Let the bitch cry, he had it coming. He fingered Dick until the boy’s voice was breaking with pleas for Slade to stop, damn near on the verge of tears. Slade released him, shoving him forward into the nearby dumpster. Dick managed to catch his balance, his arms stopping him from crashing. But he didn’t get far before Slade got behind him and bent him over the hood.

“Stop moving,” Slade hissed, bearing down his weight through his arm. He dug Dick’s cheek further into the grit of the hard plastic. Dick bucked underneath him, trying to push Slade off of him, but Slade wasn’t going anywhere. He had him now.

His hand fumbled for his belt and fly, trying to undo the fastenings with one hand. At the clanging sound of his belt buckle and the zip of his fly, Dick fought him harder.

“Get off of me,” Dick said. His voice was strained and breathy. Heat radiated off of him. He was worn down and exhausted, like prey that had been chased down. Slade had him right where he wanted him, his need growing stronger. By the time Slade had his erection in his hand, he was swollen and throbbing.

“Quit whining. This is what you wanted,” Slade said, spitting in his hand.

“Don’t do this—“

Slade ignored him, coating his cock. He lined himself up with Dick’s entrance, starting to push his way inside.

Dick’s body resisted him in every way. Dick shouted as Slade forcefully entered him, the tip squeezing its way in. Slade groaned. Dick’s body was searing hot, clenching tightly around him. He was so tight that it was almost painful.

“Open up,” Slade said, pressing in closer, knees forcing Dick’s legs apart. 

Dick started to scream as Slade thrust his way in, quickly silenced by Slade grabbing him by a fistful of hair and forcing his face into the dumpster lid. Dick’s face smacked against the hard surface. Dick yelled, agonizing pain laced in his voice. Even the dumpster thundered in protest from the impact. Slade might have broken the kid’s nose. He relished at that thought, his blood running hotter. He forced his way inside of Dick, each thrust splitting Dick open a little more, his thick, hard cock moving its way in fraction by fraction. 

It took effort to fuck his way into Dick’s resistant body. Slade had to force his way in, bit by bit. He could feel his own skin beginning to break out in a sweat from the exertion. But as Dick’s movements grew weak, one hand cradling his busted nose, blood pouring from between the fingers, his body continued to fight Slade. 

Slade finally shoved in hard, his cock slipping the rest of the way through. Right down to the base.

“There we go,” Slade said, his satisfaction smoothing out his voice.

Dick had silenced. Even his breaths were inaudible. One hand held his nose, the other tightly wrapped around the edge of the dumpster. Both hands seemed to tremble.

Slade paused only for a moment, savoring the vice tight grip around his cock. He moved, eliciting a grunt from both of them. Fucking Dick was almost painful. Whatever preparation Dick had was quickly wearing off, making him difficult to fuck into, hot friction gripping Slade with every pull and push. It didn’t matter to Slade. If it hurt him, that meant it was excruciating for Dick, and that was the only motivation he needed to keep going.

They stayed like that for awhile, Slade using purposeful thrusts to open Dick up, each push and pull easier than the last. The sounds of their breaths felt harsh in the otherwise quiet alleyway. Slade began to crave the friction around his cock, each thrusts making his blood run hotter. He groaned from the back of his throat as he made a long thrust, slipping into Dick without any resistance. Dick was opening up. Willingly or not, every thrust became easier.

Dick’s sounds increased. There was a tinge of pain to his voice, growing and growing every tme he was shoved forward with Slade’s thrusts, knees bumping up against the metal shell of the dumpster. They were starting to pick up pace, Slade repeatedly ramming up against Dick’s ass, the sounds of their fucking increasing, bodies colliding together, the metal of the dumpster drumming to their pace.

In the mixture of sounds, Slade’s ear caught onto a low, almost mournful moan. His hand roamed down Dick’s back, settling on his hips. He held Dick in place, using his hips to drive himself forward, dragging Dick along his cock. Dick’s voice swelled, moaning and panting with every thrust. He kept his grip on the dumpster for balance, but didn’t pull away, did not fight, did not attempt to escape. That amused Slade, a cruel sort of victory swelling in his chest. He smacked Dick on the ass, making him yelp like a proper bitch.

“You enjoying this, slut? Fucking fag. Cunt. You’re not supposed to enoy this.” The hand on Dick’s hip slid between Dick’s legs, gripping hard around the slowly forming erection that swung between his legs. Painfully hard. Dick jerked in place, whining in pain. “You don’t need this. Sluts like you exist to serve. I should rip it off.”

“No—”Dick said between gritted teeth. Slade only grabbed harder, making Dick cry out. Dick’s whole body was shaking and quivering, his hole clenching tightly around Slade’s cock, making him groan softly.

“This is what you wanted, right? To be held by hands that kill? You were hoping, _begging_ , to get fucked around hard by some sick fuck, weren’t you? Bet you were aching for it the whole time you drove down to this shitty little town—”

“You’re wrong—”

“Don’t be stupid. You weren’t looking for a good time with some military hero. You wanted to get dicked down by a man who spent his time raping little boys like you. You’re a sick little faggot who wants to be used like a bitch. A hole.”

Slade’s hand squeezed hard around the base of Dick’s cock and his balls. Dick shouted, quaking under Slade’s touch, his whole body trembling, threatening to drop to the ground.

“Squealing like a little bitch,” Slade growled in Dick’s hair. He finally let up, only because Dick was slipping toward the ground. Dick inhaled air like a drowning man, voice breaking into a single sob. Slade’s cock swelled at the sound. He was so hard. He grabbed Dick, went back into fucking him with a vengeance, pulling him along his cock fast and hard.

Dick was falling apart now. His voice was an onslaught of sound, moaning and gasping, his voice rising higher and higher. His hands moved everywhere, trying to find some to grab onto, something to hold for balance. His bloody hand smeared across the lid, his nose now openly dripped everywhere.

Every sound fuelled Slade’s thrusts. His hands gripped Dick bruisingly hard, holding him in place as he fucked him. Slade rammed into him at a tiring pace, his hairline breaking out in a sweat, hair quickly clinging to his skin. He could feel his arousal climbing quickly, his heart pounding through his ears, adrenaline rushing through his veins.

He didn’t let up. He didn’t slow down. Again and again, he rammed into Dick, focusing on the friction between their bodies, the push and pull of his cock inside that hot, tight space. His breathing grew shallow as Dick started to rock back on his heels, taking Slade inside of him. Slade's voice transitioned the closer he edged toward his orgasm, his grunts and growls turning almost animalistic.

Heat started to rush through him. Blood pumping. Heart racing. Vision blurring. He pulled back Dick as deep as he could go, their bodies pressed tightly together. Slade’s hips rolled forward, grinding deep inside of Dick, again and again and again. He could feel it, the constant pressure and friction around his cock driving him toward the beginnings of his climax. White hot heat pulsing through his hot, sweaty, tired body.

He growled as he came. His cock pulsed inside of Dick as he spilled his seed, his ejaculate pouring into Dick. Slade didn’t let up, he fucked Dick through his orgasm, working his sensitive cock for everything it was worth, packing his seed deep inside of Dick, using his own seed as lubricant to slide in and out of him.

He fucked Dick until the sensations were too much to handle, until he felt dazed.

Finally content, he yanked Dick off his cock. Slade was the only one holding Dick up, and the moment he released him, Dick went stumbling toward the ground. Slade stood over him, watching him for a moment. Dick was on his knees, crumpled over, shoulders raising and lowering as he tried to catch his breath.

Slade snatched him by the arm, pulling him up. Dick’s head tilted back. The entire lower half of his face was stained red. His eyes were glazed over and dazed. Slade shook him, his hand pointing his come smeared cock toward Dick’s mouth.

“Clean it up.”

Something flickered across those blue eyes. They widened, clarity returning to his expression. Dick went from stunned to lost to afraid once again. When Slade shook him by the shoulder again, thumb digging into Dick’s collarbone, the threat was made clear. Dick leaned forward, tentatively mouthing at Slade’s filthy cock.

“Weak. Do better, you greedy, cockhungry slut,” Slade said, grabbing Dick by his hair and sliding into his mouth, mashing Dick’s bloody face up against his groin and holding him there.

Dick grabbed onto Slade’s thighs for balance, gripping hard. Slade didn’t care, he held Dick tightly to his lap. Dick breathed in deep through his bloody nose, his breath tickling Slade’s sensitive flesh. Slade pulled him in deeply, burying Dick’s nose in his pubic hair. He gripped Dick’s hair hard enough to hurt, nails digging into his scalp. Dick started suck and nurse at Slade’s cock, cleaning Slade off with more vigor. Slade finally pulled back, letting Dick’s velvet tongue and soft lips work around his tip and shaft, cleaning off his seed.

“That’s it,” Slade said, just as Dick’s eyes fell shut and his tongue striped across Slade’s cock and balls. Slade dipped his cock past those lips, burying it in Dick’s mouth. Dick sucked and mouthed at him, finally cleaning him off.

When Slade was done and satisfied, he pulled away. He could feel the weight of Dick’s gaze on him as he zipped himself up. He could sense that Dick wanted something from him—an apology, an explanation, maybe even a helping hand. Slade didn’t care. The only touch of remorse he felt was that he wasn’t going to be able to wipe that smirk off of Dick’s face again.

“Hope you got everything you were looking for,” he couldn’t help but say, just wanting to get at least one more dig in before he left. But before he turned away, Dick tilted his head up at him. His face was an absolute mess, covered in blood and saliva and come and sweat and tears. And yet, the corner of his mouth lifted, revealing a hint of pink-stained teeth.

Slade bristled at the sight. He glared down at Dick.

“What?” Slade said, despite himself.

“I was honest when I said I was just messing around,” Dick said. His voice was slow and hoarse. Slade should have just kicked him down and left—but he didn’t. He just stared. Dick didn’t shake his head, so much as he let it loll side to side. “I’ve never been here before. I was just passing through.”

Slade looked down at him. Trying to determine what Dick was trying to tell him. Dick continued on, voice tired and almost rambling.

“I didn’t know this was a military bar until I showed up. You called me something. A tagchaser.”

“What, are you trying to tell me that you’re not?”

Dick finally lowered his gaze. He shook his head.

“No, I wasn’t.”

Slade said nothing. Something started to itch at him. That feeling again. That frustrated feeling.

He didn’t think he’d get angry again—but then Dick spoke up.

“But I think you just turned me into one.”

**Author's Note:**

> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/lacemonsterbats)


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